


The Game

by pokeasleepingsmaug



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Dom/sub, F/M, Inspired By Tumblr, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 09:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10533882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/pseuds/pokeasleepingsmaug
Summary: Inspired by the heathen army prompt game on Tumblr! Thanks to whenimaunicorn for the amazing prompt!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic was inspired by the heathen army on Tumblr, and a slap/lick/fondle prompt. Thanks for taking the time to read it, hope you enjoy!

It was my older sister, Ingibjorg, who suggested the game. It was played fairly often in our own kingdom, but nobody in Kattegat seemed to know it, and she cackled in delight. “My sister will show you how it's done, then.” She motioned to me. “I need three volunteers.” Nobody moved, unwilling to get in over their heads. “Brave enough to stand in a shield wall, but not brave enough to play a little drinking game? What kind of place is this?” She raised her eyebrows, and then the horn of mead in her hand. “Maybe not deep enough in your cups yet?” As if to demonstrate, she drained her mead. “Look how pretty Thora is. Do you really think she would hurt you?”

A deep chuckle sounded as the first volunteer stepped forward. He was tall, and his long braid fell midway down his back. “We've seen her on the battlefield, Ingibjorg. We have reason to hesitate, but I will play.”

“Is Ubbe the bravest of the sons of Ragnar, then?” Ingibjorg challenged. Immediately, Sigurd set down his ute and stood, always eager to prove himself worthy of his father. Ivar dragged himself forward as well, smirking first at me and then up at his brother, “I can't let dear Sigurd have all the fun.” Ingibjorg dragged three chairs and set them up in a line, and the brothers sat. 

She grinned at me, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. “Not a bad selection, little sister.” She raised her voice to explain the rules, “The boys will close their eyes, and they are not to move. Thora will choose one to lick, one to slap, and one to fondle. Does everyone agree to these rules?”

“So we cannot respond?” Ubbe asked.

Ingibjorg considered this. “You may respond a little, to keep things interesting. But keep in mind you will all get turns later, too.” He nodded in approval, and Ingibjorg continued, “Close your eyes, and let's begin!” They obeyed, and I considered the choices before me. I knew only a little of the brothers, since this was my first time raiding with them, but what I did know made my decision a little easier. I certainly knew who deserved the slap.

I walked over to Ubbe, sitting still with his hands resting on his knees, and bent my face to his. I let my warm breath tease him for a moment, and enjoyed the pungent scent of mead on his breath, sweet enough to make me a little giddy. I moved slightly to the side and slowly dragged the tip of my tongue along the sculpted line of his jaw, up the center of his chin, and to his lips. They were warm and full, parted either in surprise or pleasure, and I traced their outline. His tongue darted out to gently touch mine, and I laughed. He winked, chuckling warmly, as I pulled away.

Sigurd sat in the next chair, making him the natural choice for my next victim. I stopped in front of him and bent a little, running a hand through the soft curls, and tugged lightly on one of his braids. Next I ran my hands down his shoulders and chest, the coarse fabric of his shirt not concealing the lean strength of the muscles beneath it. I moved my hands to his arms, stopped at his hands, and squeezed the calloused fingers. He squeezed back gently, then released my hands and opened his eyes to grin at me, triumphant because he knew what was coming. His rivalry with Ivar was well known.

I stepped to the last chair. Even with his eyes closed Ivar looked dangerous, but I was confident in my choice. The slap rang out sharply, a faint stinging beginning in my palm, and Ivar struck like a snake. He used his arms to launch himself at me, and I barely had time to move out of his way. He barreled into me like a runaway horse, and his momentum carried us to the wooden floor in a tangled, flailing heap. He quickly writhed loose and pulled himself on top of me, gaining the advantage. As he pinned me, I realized those seemingly useless legs actually made a great deadweight. That was also where the weakness would lie, though.

“To whom are you loyal?” He growled, face hovering above mine. Pressed this close, I could smell the warm musky scent of him, woodsmoke and leather and a little sweat. His breath smelled like mead,sweet and hot, and I hated the unexpected coil of desire stirring in my belly. Damn this bastard, and damn mead, that infamous loosener of legs. His blue eyes bored into me, seeming almost black with fury as he awaited an answer.

“King Finehair.” My voice trembled a little at the word king, and he smirked. Did he think I was scared of him, or did he know the true reason? It didn't seem to matter, because he pressed his advantage by bringing one hand to my throat and applying light pressure, just enough to be uncomfortable. A small edge of fear and anger mingled with the unexpected lust, but it only seemed to strengthen it. How much had I drunk tonight?

“If you swear loyalty to me instead, I will forgive the insult you have given me.” He pressed harder, showing his advantage, but a plan was forming in my mead-fogged mind.

“Never,” my voice rasped painfully around his hand. “What good is loyalty if it changes like the tides?” As I spoke, I slowly bent one knee, trying to get my heel to the floor and get some leverage. I could see him considering my words. “Would you consider fighting for me, Thora, if your king,” he sneered the words, “decided not to raid?”

“Perhaps, or maybe I would like a taste of peace.” I bent my leg further. He was too focused on keeping his grip tight on my throat and my arms pinned to my sides to notice. He lowered his face closer to mine, his mead-sweet breath brushing my dry lips.”Do you fear me, Thora?”

I shrugged, as much as my position would allow. “Not greatly.” His icy eyes narrowed, piercing me, and that was when I made my move. I used my bent leg as leverage to flip us, and landed on top of him with a dull thud as a surprised cry escaped his lips. Although I had my knees digging painfully into his ribs, he had a vicelike grip on my upper arms. He growled low in his throat and yanked me roughly to him, and he kissed me.

There was nothing soft in that kiss, anger and insult and desire giving easy way to an animal lust and the taste of blood as he bit my lip. The copper tang of my blood mixed with the sweetness of the mead on his lips, and I couldn't stop the small, hungry gasp that flew from my lips. He groaned quietly, pressing his mouth hard to mine. His angry lips demanded submission, which I refused to give. He broke off the kiss, his lips and surrounding skin reddened with my blood, and pushed me roughly offof his chest. “Someday, Thora, you will submit to me.” 

My heart pounded like Thor's hammer as Ingibjorg hanged me a horn of mead, and I drained it in long gulps. It stung the cut on my lip and reminded me of the taste of Ivar's mouth. I couldn't get rid of the taste of blood and Ivar. I choked and nearly spat out the mead when he turned to my sister and asked sweetly, “When is my turn?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, it's Ivar's turn!

I clenched my hands into fists to still their shaking as I sat on the floor, eyes closed. A s giggle rang out, then the dragging sound of Ivar's legs as he moved to the girl next to me. The slap echoed through the hall, and the shieldmaiden hissed but made no other sound. Then came the sound of Ivar pulling himself to me. My stomach clenched, remembering our earlier encounter—the feel of his lean body pressed atop me, the rough hand on my throat, the anger and passion in his kiss. I could practically still taste him, sweet and strong as mead with the tang of my blood.

I tried to push the memory back, but his weight settled into my lap, legs stretched out beside him. I could feel his hot breath tickling my ear as he leaned in to whisper, “You will fear me before my turn is over.” I didn't dignify him with a response.

His hands dug into my hair, tugging harder than strictly necessary at the small braids and loose curls. “But now begins the real fun.” A cool kiss of steel at the juncture of my throat below my ear made me hold my breath. He laughed coldly. “That's what I thought.” I forced myself to exhale. He would not win this. It had become a matter of pride for both of us. 

At a cry of protest from Ingibjorg, Ivar paused but didn't remove the blade. “You never said I had to use my hands to fondle her.” I could picture the wolfish grin as his hand tangled in my hair again, forcing my head roughly back to expose my throat. He drew the blade lightly down my throat, applying just a little more pressure at the pulse points below my chin. I forced my breathing to remain steady, but I could feel a slickness starting between my thighs. Damn him. He laid the blade flat against my collarbone, then quickly dipped it just below the bone and drew a line of blood that welled up over the small, sharp blade. He repeated this on the other side of my chest, then rested the edge of the against the juncture of my neck and shoulder.

He applied enough pressure so I could feel the sharpness of the edge, but he didn't draw blood this time. Every move he made was deliberate and slow, teasing. I hated and wanted him, and I hated him even more for the wanting. One hand still forcing my head back and the knife still pressing into my neck, he leaned forward and licked slowly along the cuts he had made below my collarbone. His tongue was warm and gentle, a sharp contrast from earlier. I shivered involuntarily. “Submit,” he whispered huskily, soft lips moving against the raw skin. 

“Never.” Ivar bit down hard, and I could feel the edges of his teeth leaving their marks on me, ringing the cut he'd made. The knife pressed harder, drawing blood again, before he moved it up the side of my neck. He tickled the shell of my ear with the tip of the knife. The knife left my flesh, and I felt a sharp tug on my hair.

“You will submit to me later,” he whispered in my ear. He nibbled along the edge of my ear, hard and quick, and then his weight was gone. A sharp pang of regret at the loss of his touch stabbed through the desire still seething through me. I opened my eyes to see him smirking at me, blue eyes arrogant and smoldering with desire as they rested on me. Around his wrist was tied a thin braid of my hair—a promise and a threat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar comes to collect.

The stables were always peaceful to me, and I needed an escape after the feast last night. I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of horses—the headache was beginning lift with my work, though. I stood in my horse's stall, picking through her straw with a pitchfork and tossing the soiled stuff into a barrel in the barn aisle. I didn't really trust anyone else to care for her, although it would take a special type of dumbass to not be able to muck a stall. 

“Someone said I would find you here, but I didn't expect you to be shoveling shit like a common farmer.” I jumped in surprise at the smooth voice, dripping with condescension, and heard a triumphant chuckle. “Not feeling yourself today, dear Thora?”

I glanced at him but continued my methodical cleaning. He was smirking, of course, even white teeth glinting in the dim light of the barn. I flicked my tongue over the cut those teeth had torn in my lip last night. “You're ruining my morning, Ivar.”

“Well, you ruined my night,” he countered. I snorted, and he continued, “I told you you would submit to me, but you never did. But I have a way you can make it up to me.” In sheer disbelief, I turned to face him. He grinned sweetly up at me from the dusty floor. “Does your chest hurt much?”

I looked down at where his eyes lingered, at the cuts below my collarbone. One was surrounded in a deep purple bruise, the cut reduced to a thin red line from the swelling. Deep tooth marks showed in a near perfect circle. “It would take more than a sullen prince to hurt me.” I had rolled my sleeves up to my elbows as I worked, and a jagged scar up the outside of my right forearm was clearly visible, but I held it toward him anyway. Once the wound had healed over, my father had carefully inked a large, intricate loop of knotwork around it. 

“Come here,” Ivar's voice was intrigued, he used the easy tone of one who expected to be obeyed. I decided there was no harm in complying right now. I knelt before him and he took my arm gently in his calloused hands. His index finger lightly traced the tattoo, raising my skin into gooseflesh. “This was done by a man of great skill. It adds to the beauty of the scar without distracting from it.” He nodded his approval, and released my arm. Part of me—a large part—wished he hadn't.

“My father did it.” My clipped tone brooked no further discussion, and he unexpectedly let it slide. I returned to my work, hoping he would take my second hint, but my luck had run out. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him shifting into a more comfortable position. 

“Now, about how you will make this up to me. Which horse is yours?” 

I was so caught off guard by the question that I answered automatically. “The dun with the black stripe down her back.” I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. “Why? If you harm her, I will kill you.” He threw back his head and laughed, a sound alive with true amusement. He had a nice laugh when it was genuine, warm and sweet as an embrace.

“I only wish to hook her to my cart. There is enough room for you to come, too., but you will have to help me hook her up.” I appraised him, the earnest look on his face, and sighed in resignation. Without a word, I leaned my pitchfork against the wall and went to fetch my mare. “Thora!” Ivar's voice was sharp as he started to follow me. “Where are you going?”

“To get Freya. Wait here.” He obeyed, and left me in peace to get her. She greeted me eagerly when I called to her, and I scratched her favorite spot on her withers as I slid the rope halter over her head and led her into the barn. She was a type of horse common where I came from, but I had not seen another like her in Kattegat yet. She was smaller than most horses, stocky and strong. Her mane was cut so it stood on her neck, accenting the arch of her neck and the muscles packed onto her frame. Her kind was bred as an all-purpose horse, used for riding, pulling carts, and plowing fields. They were intelligent, kind, and friendly horses, and I loved Freya dearly. Ivar was waiting where I left him. I had brushed her before putting her in the field, and she thankfully hadn't rolled, so we were ready to go. “Where is your cart?”

He smiled up at me with anticipation. “Follow me.” He set off, his legs creating a trail through the dust on the floor, and I found myself feeling bad for how dirty he had to get crawling around like that all the time. If it bothered him, he was too proud to show it. He led Freya and I to a shed behind the barn and pulled open the door with a flourish. The pride on his face was evident, and I had to admit the cart was an impressive piece of work. “Floki made it for me, to give me mobility on battlefields.”

I smiled at him, reaching a hand to trace a finger over a carving in the side. “I have seen it in action, but never up close. It's amazing.” I turned Freya around and backed her between the two shafts, then quickly hooked her in. The white horse I had seen hooked to this before was less stocky than Freya, so I adjusted the buckles until the harness fit her comfortably. She opened her mouth for the bit, and I turned to find Ivar. “My horse, I drive.”

He was sitting in the cart, reins already in hand, smiling lazily at me. “My cart, I drive. Get in, or we leave you. Just this once, Thora, don't argue. I won't even consider this submitting if that makes you happy.” Grumbling under my breath, I climbed into the cart behind Ivar and grabbed the edges to steady myself. He shook his head. “Once we get going, you're going to want to be holding to me.”

“I would rather fall off,” I retorted. Ivar shrugged one shoulder, uncaring, and slapped the reins across Freya's back. She started forward, dropping her head and pushing into the harness. It was lighter than what she was used to, and her ears flicked in surprise as we started moving. “She is voice trained, too. You don't have to just use the reins, but she will respond to either.”

As we left the stableyard, he called out “trot!” to Freya, and she took off at a brisk pace. I cursed at the change and clutched at Ivar's shoulders. I could feel the muscles beneath my hands flexing as he laughed, “I told you. Sometimes it is wise to listen to me, Thora.” I stepped closer to him, pressing my stomach against his back, and dropped my hands to clasp them together around his chest. 

He leaned his head back against my chest, and I bent forward to swiftly bite his ear. “This is still not submitting,” I growled. 

I could feel his chuckle in my ribs, and he shook his head. “No. Submitting comes when we get where we're going.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar finally forces Thora into submission.

After his last threat, we fell into silence. I imagined he was reveling in the feelings he probably could tell he stirred in me. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, I was sure he could feel it where his head rested against me. He concentrated on guiding Freya to whatever destination he had in mind, and I tried to calm my racing thoughts.

He called Freya to a stop in the middle of a small, empty clearing. She halted obediently, ears flicking back toward us. It was late fall, after the raiding season, and the knee-length grass in the clearing was brown and dry, interspersed with the stalks of long-dead spring wildflowers. “If we will be here for a while, I will unhook Freya from the harness. She won't go far, and she comes when I whistle.” Ivar nodded, and my nerves jangled at his silence. As I stepped from the cart and toward Freya, I tried to subtly wipe my sweating palms on my pants. My torso was cold where he had been pressed against me. I quickly undid the buckles and slid the bit from her mouth. 

Freya shook like a wet dog, dropped to her side, and rolled, kicking her legs and snorting. “She has the right idea, I think,” Ivar said from right beside me. His arms wrapped around my knees and he shoved, knocking me to the ground and quickly pinning me. He ducked his head to kiss me, hard and demanding, and his tongue ran over the cut he had left there last night. I was breathing hard when he released me, shoving something solid into my right hand. It was a blade, about half the length of my forearm, the late morning sun glinting off the wickedly sharp edge. He held a matching blade in his hand, and he stroked the edge of his against mine. The sound of metal grating slowly on metal made my teeth stand on edge. “To first blood. Winner decides their prize. Loser submits. Do you agree to my terms?”

I nodded, and he pushed himself a few feet away from me. He raised his knife and eyebrows in a mocking salute, baring his teeth in a wolfish grin. I knew he was fast, that people underestimated him because of his legs, and I braced myself for his strike. It didn't come. Instead he was sizing me up, as if waiting for me to make the first move. I started crawling slowly toward him. He mirrored me, backing away to maintain the distance. 

So I lunged. I hit him full on, chest to chest, and he gave way before me almost too easily. Warning trumpets sounded in my head, a split second before he wrapped one arm around me and flung me from him as if I were a child. He had used my own momentum to toss me, something I should have been prepared for. I cursed myself as I scrambled quickly to deflect his onslaught, but he ran the tip of his knife down the inside of my wrist and punctured the skin with surprising gentleness. A single drop of blood welled up, and he patted my shoulder to signal me to stop. “You move like a Valkyrie, woman, but I am a descendant of Odin. I win, and you will submit.” He grabbed my wrist and carelessly licked the ruby bead there before taking the knife from my grasp. “Just in case you get any ideas. Be a good girl and go over to the cart.”

I glared at him, unwilling to let him know how that careless caress had undone me, and he glared back. A warning growl sounded in his throat, and I shoved him roughly away and stalked to the cart. His mocking, self-satisfied laugh rang out behind me. “There is rope in the cart. Grab it.” I silently grabbed it as he crawled toward me. “Sit with your back against the wheel and your hands behind your back.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. “You agreed.” I sighed dramatically, but obeyed. “You can keep this act up all you want, woman, but I know the truth.” Ivar grinned at me. “I like it when you fight me a little. But today, I want you to submit to me.” He crawled over to me, took the rope, and tied my hands to a spoke in the wheel. He tugged hard, and when he was satisfied that his knot would hold, he settled himself on my lap like he owned it. As much as I hated to admit it, at this point he did. 

He began by licking the bruised, bitten cut he had marked me with last night. I hissed in shock at the sting, but that was soon overridden by the warm, slow pleasure of his tongue. He traced his way to the other cut under my collarbone and gently bit it, not enough to leave marks on this one. “I felt a little bad last night, for not soothing these cuts,” he murmured, soft lips tickling against my skin. He blazed a trail of kisses along my shoulder and up onto my neck, and I gasped as his teeth sank into the front of my throat. He chuckled, clearly pleased at my reaction. 

Ivar rested his lips against the pulse point below my chin. “I can feel your heart race for me already, but it will be even faster by the time I'm done with you.” He pulled back, and he silenced my protest by pressing his finger to my parted lips. Around his wrist, the braid he had cut from my head last night was still tied. He followed my gaze to it. “I couldn't have other women thinking I was available,” he offered by way of explanation. 

“But you are,” I blurted past his finger. He slid it into my mouth, and I reflexively closed my mouth and started sucking on it. He moaned quietly, shaking his head. Ivar suddenly withdrew his finger from my mouth with a small pop, and put it in his own mouth to taste. He evidently liked what he found, because he pressed his mouth to mine and his tongue demanded entrance.

I had agreed to submit, and I was glad I had that excuse to blame for my behavior. I kissed him back, molding my lips to his, and began applying pressure to his tongue with my teeth. Tied in this position against the cart, I couldn't do much else. The kiss lingered, slow and exploratory, so unlike the angry one from last night. His teeth found the scab from then and he tugged it off, releasing a slow trickle of blood into our mouths. His lips grew suddenly harder, demanding more, and I was unable to resist him. I gave, and I gave, and he took. 

Finally he broke the kiss, and had my hands not been tied I would have pulled him back to me. Instead all I could do was groan in frustration, and Ivar smiled lazily. “Just a change of pace, Thora. Did you really think I was going to just kiss you all day?” A chill tingled through me at that, belly clenching in anticipation. “You're being awfully quiet.” He observed.

“I'm submitting, as per your request,” I retorted, spewing sarcasm like acid. He laughed and cupped my cheek, rewarding me with another kiss. 

“Good girl. I'll make it worth the effort, I promise. Submitting doesn't come easily to you, I know. I'm glad you trust me enough.”

“I lost a wager,” I reminded him, eyebrows raised. “And if you're going to make it worth my while, you better get to it.”

He frowned. “You're making it up to me. You ruined my night last night, remember?”

“Yes, Ivar, I'm sure you hated cutting me.”

He threw back his head, laughing again. “You caught me. I enjoyed that. I did not enjoy you leaving me so unsatisfied.” I started to protest again, but Ivar shook his head. “No more talking.” His voice was hard now, leaving no room for argument. He shifted back a little, his hands wandering down my chest and stomach to undo the ties at the front of my trousers. “Be a good woman and leave me to my work.” He slid one hand down the front of my trousers, finding me already slick and ready. He nodded at me, clearly pleased, as his thumb circled the already swollen knob at my front.  
I closed my eyes, biting back a moan, as he slid two big fingers inside me. He quickly withdrew them, and my eyes flew open. He was frowning at me. “No holding back. Let me hear how good I make you feel. That is part of submitting.” He slid his finger into me again, and this time I allowed the moan to escape. He murmured encouragingly to me as he curled his fingers,searching for my sweet spot. I shuddered involuntarily when he found it, gasping, and he murmured, “my good girl, that's my good girl.” He nuzzled into my neck, first biting, then soothing the bites with slow flicks of his warm tongue. His fingers continued to slide in and out of me, slick and easy, curling to hit that sweet spot with every deliberate stroke.

He began to pick up speed, biting down hard on my neck and growling, “let me hear you say my name, good girl.” I panted, moaning, trying to form the shape of his name as he pushed me over my edge. I thought I was incapable of words, but as the waves of my pleasure spilled over and drenched his hand, his name erupted from my lips in an animal shriek that I didn't even recognize as my own voice. He increased the pace of his fingers for just a moment before slowing them, drawing out the aftershocks, and I trembled against him like a leaf in the wind. 

Ivar withdrew his fingers from me and popped them into his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning as he sucked my juices from them. His breathing was almost as heavy and erratic as mine as I collapsed against the wheel of the cart, feeling as though Ivar were my god and I was the boneless one. He smiled at me, eyes dark with desire and promises of things to come. “Next time, I submit to you,” he promised, slicing the rope that bound my wrists.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar unexpectedly submits to Thora

I left the great hall, reeling slightly from one too many horns of ale, and Ingibjorg shook her head. “What memories were you trying to drown, sister?” A strong, lean body pinning me to the hard earth, knife point breaking skin. A warm, slow tongue on my collabone, a burning path of kisses on my neck, the chafe of rope against my wrists. The spokes of a cart-wheel digging into my back as I arched against them, thick, clever fingers mercilessly pushing into my wet folds. I had hardly been able to keep my eyes off him during dinner, and he'd smirked when he caught me looking. I'd been disappointed when he left before us.

“Nothing. It was just good ale,” I lied, shrugging. We had reached the hall where our rooms were, and she shoved me toward my door.

“Well, you'd better sleep it off. Ubbe invited us to train with him and his brothers tomorrow, after I told him you and I were staying in Kattegat for the winter.” I narrowed my eyes playfully at her, elbowing her ribs.

“Caught his eye, hmmm?” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively at her, and she laughed, a warm flush creeping into her cheeks.

“He's married, Thora. Go to sleep, you're insufferable when the ale takes you this way.” She pushed me again toward my door, and this time I allowed myself to fall against it. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Ingibjorg,” I answered, opening the door to my small room and closing it as I stepped inside. Immediately I tensed. A fire was laid in the hearth against the far wall, and the candles on the table beside my bed had been lit. 

And in my bed, smirking as widely as Loki himself, lounged the man whose touch I'd been trying to forget. “I have decided I am ready to submit to you now,” Ivar greeted me.

“I wasn't aware that's how submission works,” I retorted, and he shrugged. I found myself walking toward my bed almost against my will. I sat beside him, and he shifted to give me room. His eyes were hungry and dark with lust, dragging slowly over me. Propelled by the ale—or so I told myself—I reached out a hand to touch him. All hesitation, all trace of fear, vanished when my palm cupped his cheek. 

I growled and pulled his face to mine, pressing my lips hard to his. Ivar's mouth was soft and yielding beneath mine, and I moaned in pleasant shock. I felt him gasp as he swallowed my moan, and for just a moment his lips hardened as he fought with himself to let me keep control the kiss. I pulled back, and a pleading whimper escaped his parted lips. I ignored him and let my hand slide down his strong chest and stomach, then up under his shirt. He leaned forward to help as I slid it over his head. 

Ivar looked like a god, glinting bronze in the warm candlelight. I had known he was strong, but I was still unprepared for the way the muscles and tendons showed sharp and defined through his smooth skin. He was as yet unscarred, although if he continued to fight the way he did, he wouldn't stay that way much longer. Overcome by the beauty of him, I reached up to unbind his braids. I suddenly wanted nothing more than the feel of his hair, soft as raw silk, through my fingers. I could see the impatience darkening his piercing blue eyes, and I rewarded him with a rough bite to his collarbone. This seemed to settle him for now, and allowed me to continue my leisurely undressing. If he was going to submit, I was going to take advantage.

My hands wandered slowly down his lean stomach, reveling in the hardness of the muscles there. I pulled back the furs settled around his hips, and I looked up to meet his eyes. “Do you mind if I take off your braces and your breeches? I want to see every last piece of you.” He hesitated, and the fear of rejection in those blue eyes nearly broke me. I took his hand and laid it over the bruised cut beneath my collarbone. “You have laid claim to me, but it was not against my will,” I whispered as he fingered the slash. He nodded once, and I bent to my task. 

His braces were supple leather, worn, but oiled and obviously cared for. I undid them slowly, and placed them on the table beside my bed. A plan was beginning to form in the back of my mind, but I scolded myself to stay focused. I ran my hands up the length of his thigh to the ties that held his trousers together. I tugged the strings loose, and he shifted his hips to help me slide his trousers off. He lay before me, fully exposed, and I sucked in a deep, appreciative breath. Just the sight of him sent a sudden slickness between my legs. 

Ivar locked eyes defiantly with me, daring me to say something, and all I could do was slide myself slowly up the length of his sculpted body. I could feel his prick beneath my hip, still half-soft, but then I had barely even kissed him. I wasn't concerned. I leaned forward, my breath tickling his ear, and whispered, “Now you will undress me.” I nipped his earlobe sharply to punctuate my order, and his hands went to the ties at the back of my dress. His hands shook slightly as he untied them, and I stood to let the dress fall to the floor. 

“Gods, woman, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he moaned, reaching toward me. I shook my head, stepping back, and Ivar's face blanched in sudden fear. I could see the wordless plea in his blue eyes, begging me not to step back from him. 

“You will not touch me yet, Ivar,” I chided. “Tonight, you are mine.” I slid back in the bed beside him, digging my fingernails into his hips, and he arched them toward me. “Not yet, not yet,” I told him softly, reaching to the table. “I am going to tie your hands, and when I release them, you can do as you please to me. But first it is my turn.” I guided him to be fully stretched out on my bed, nestling into the warm furs, and then I grabbed his hands and used one of his leather straps to tie him to the headboard. 

I leaned down and kissed him hard, and he eagerly gave himself to me. He kept his lips soft and yielding, although I could feel the impatience thrumming through him wherever our skin touched. I kept kissing him, reaching to the table, and groped for the small dagger I kept there. I pressed it into his sweet smooth flesh, just above his nipple, and eagerly drank in the moan this prompted. I suddenly left the kiss and sat up on his hips, feeling his hardening cock throbbing beneath my slick entrance, and I smiled at him. I reached up with the dagger and opened up the cut he had made on my collarbone the night before, and his hips bucked against me. His bound hands were clenched into fists so hard his knuckles were white. “You've been wonderful, Ivar,” I crooned softly, grinding myself against him. He threw his head back against my pillow. 

I caught my dripping blood on my index finger and shifted, revealing his cock. I drew my bloodied finger along its length, painting it with my blood. Ivar's breathing was ragged, and he was straining against the leather strap. I knew he couldn't yield anymore, and I quickly released his hands before he could break his brace. With a savage howl, Ivar threw himself on top of me, and in one swift thrust, sheathed the entirety of his length inside my eager sex. I cried out at the sudden, intense sweetness of him filling me, and he gave me no time to adjust before he withdrew himself almost completely, only to slam into me immediately. 

He was fierce and passionate, eyes practically black with the need and lust consuming him, and I felt just as reckless. He lowered his mouth to the bleeding cut beneath my collarbone, and as he lapped the trickling blood with his warm, wet tongue, I shuddered and gasped. This only drove him to fuck me with even more fury, and an animal shriek ripped from my throat as I felt my body come apart at the seams. He followed right after, burying himself in me to the hilt and spilling his warm seed deep within me. 

He didn't withdraw right away, instead clinging to me with his arms tightly around my waist. Ivar met my eyes, shining with need, and whispered, “Can I lay beside you tonight?” I nodded, and he slowly slid his spent prick from my aching core. I could feel him in me long after he withdrew, my face buried in the crook of his neck as I gently stroked his back.


End file.
